


Revenant

by tirsynni



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Elricest, Post-Series, ignores movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:23:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6256402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brother was first found, Alphonse Elric was so happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenant

**Author's Note:**

> More of my Slut!Ed and fic transfer from livejournal. Written for fma_fuh_q.

For years, all I could think about was Brother’s return.  I slipped on his coat—Winry would always wistfully touch it and talk about how famous it was—and journeyed everywhere I could to find some trace of him.  It was three years into my journey that I received the message from Corporal Mustang.  He never told me how he knew Brother—would just smile wistfully like Winry did—but he was the one who was kind enough to track me down to tell me that Brother had been found.  He glossed over the details, but it didn’t matter.  All I cared about was that Brother was waiting for me in Risenbool.

When I met him again, he was a little too skinny, a little too pale, and he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.  I told him that, but I don’t think he heard me.

That was the first time I’d ever seen him cry.

At first, everything was perfect.  If Brother acted a bit odd, well, that was okay.  He never told me what happened, but he said that if he ever told anyone, I’d be the first.  I was just so happy to have him back that I didn’t care.  We built a new home where our last one stood—my insistence—and he stayed with me there.  I asked him if he missed the military, but he would only smile a strained smile at me.  It wasn’t an answer, but he wasn’t planning on leaving again, so I was still happy.  If he flinched when he saw a mirror or would jump for no reason, that was okay.  We were together again, and that was all that mattered.

I refused to think about why I sometimes saw Brother’s eyes in the mirror when Brother refused to even _look_ at one.

I refused to think about why he would apologize to me in his sleep but wouldn’t say my name quite right.

I refused to think about why he was always up before me—something that was _impossible_ before—and appeared freshly showered when he asked me if he had disturbed me during the night.

I swore to always be beside him, but when he needed me, I looked the other way, pretending we were still happy.  I did that before, too, when Mom was sick.  She pretended to be strong—just like Brother—and I happily went along with it.  They’ve both sacrificed so much for me, and I’ve always been so selfish.  I don’t want to be selfish anymore.

Brother didn’t know, but sometimes I stayed up at night, curled up in my bed across from his and just _listening_.  I would tightly close my eyes but I would still _hear_ the soft whispers in the dark, the quiet moans and whimpers.  That _, that_ , I might have confronted Brother about, but I remembered asking Winry before about some of the odd noises she made at night, and her reaction kept me quiet.  Sometimes, he sounded like he was in pain, but I just bit my lip and waited until it was over. 

We were only living in our new home for four months when he broke the bathroom mirror.

With his flesh fist.

I bound up his bleeding hand and scolded him, but he refused to tell me why he did it.  Brother didn’t meet my eyes, instead staring furiously at the floor.  He didn’t want to go back into the bathroom, so I had to clean up the mess.  There was blood and glass all over the sink.  If I had cared to notice, I would have seen the blood splattered intricately on the walls in a mocking, sprawling script.  I didn’t care to notice, though.  The feel of my brother’s blood on my hands was more than enough to distract me.

The memory of the blood kept me wide awake that night.  That night, I heard every whisper, every moan, every sob.  I wanted nothing more than to cover my ears, but I was afraid Brother would notice.  So I listened, and I heard my brother apologize over and over again and I heard my brother in the same breath deny every apology.

I was still awake when Brother got up in the morning.  I heard him bundle up his sheets and take them downstairs.  I heard him go to the bathroom, and I imagined I could hear him crying through the falling water.

After all that, I had to watch the next night.  After watching him bleed and weep and crumble more every day, I had no choice but to watch.

I hated myself for never realizing that there had been three people in our room all those nights.

But oh were they beautiful.  Brother was naked and sprawled on top of the sheets, long hair loose over the pillow.  Even in the wasted light of the moon, I could see the familiar guilt twisting his face, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.  Suffering darkened his eyes to a burnished gold, and each scar slicing through his flesh shimmered ghostly white against his tan skin.

At that moment, he seemed a martyr, a crucified saint, and it was too easy to fall in love with him.

The shadow that danced between Brother’s thighs threw back every apology that spilled from Brother’s lips.  They both breathed that twisted version of my name, the same voice and the same name and the same helpless pain, and as one pair of golden eyes shimmered with tears, the other burned with hatred.  The shadow whispered the ( _un_ )familiar name against Brother’s lips, against Brother’s scarred chest, against Brother’s bandaged hand.  And over and over again, I heard the shadow whisper,

_He trusted you._

Brother wept and moaned and arched his body with each jerk of the shadow’s form.  His cock lay limp on his thigh, even as his automail hand remained limp on the sheets.  He attempted no circle or attack.  Brother lay there as he was raped and the only thing that escaped his mouth was apologies.

Then the shadow faced me, and I was frozen by my brother’s eyes. 

The homunculi were mere parodies of Sin as Wrath himself stared at me.  Those eyes stared at me with the same fierce, desperate love that Brother’s always held, but the shadow also burned with a hatred that no tantrum of Brother’s could ever touch.  The specter ached and hated and ached and hated and I felt that emotion cut me like the shards of the bathroom mirror.

When the shadow said my name next, it was truly _my_ name, not the twisted version from before.  And Brother looked up.  And Brother met my eyes.

And I drowned in the shame that I saw there.

I was still awake when Brother got up in the morning.  I heard him bundle up his sheets and take them downstairs.  I heard him go to the bathroom, and I imagined I could hear him crying through the falling water.

But this time, the water didn’t stop for a long, long time.

I learned later that I never successfully cleaned all the glass shards from the mirror.  The shard was still beside him, and I saw golden eyes despite the fact Brother’s eyes were closed.

If I had learned to be bolder or stronger or if I had even continued looking the other way, it never would have gotten that far.  It _wouldn’t_.  I know it wouldn’t.  But I failed and it did.  It was my mistake, though.  I’m willing to pay for it.

I lost Brother for years.

I’m not willing to lose Brother again.

And even as I write this, I imagine I can still feel Brother's arms around me, Brother's voice whispering to me that everything's going to be all right.

 


End file.
